They moved to the house. The door was locked, but a window latch was broken. Noah helped Eliza inside, then climbed through himself.
The air smelled of dust and mold, but the structure felt sound.
“It’s dark,” Eliza said.
“The power’s out,” Noah concluded. He forced open a window, letting sunlight flood the room.
In the kitchen, the faucet sputtered uselessly.
“No water either,” he murmured.
Instead of despair, excitement stirred.
“Do you remember where Grandpa’s well was?” he asked.
“Behind the house,” Eliza said.
They found it hidden beneath tall grass—a stone well with a rusted hand pump.
Noah studied it closely. “It needs oil.”
In the barn, he found old cans of machine lubricant. He cleaned and oiled the pump, working the handle again and again.
Then—water burst forth.
Eliza clapped. “You did it!”
Noah smiled—but something felt wrong. The pump hadn’t been truly broken. Parts had been loosened… intentionally.
As night fell, Noah fixed an old generator in the barn, bringing light back to the house. They found canned food, cooked a simple meal, and slept on old mattresses in the living room.
That night, Noah lay awake, listening.